


Harry Potter and the Castle of Chaos

by PixelKind



Series: Castle of Chaos [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, RWBY
Genre: AU, Action, Action/Adventure, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Glynda Goodwitch is the Deputy Headmistress and also teaches DADA, Harry Potter has Aura, Harry leaves the Dursleys, Humor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ozpin is the Headmaster of Hogwarts, The Knight Bus (Harry Potter), never to return
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25359838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelKind/pseuds/PixelKind
Summary: On his eleventh birthday, Harry is introduced to a crazy new world of magic; but this Wizarding World has a role for him to fill. Faced with Prophecies and Dark Lords, Godfathers and Headmasters, and an entire school filled with potential friends and enemies, Harry tries to find a balance between growing up and preparing to face his destiny.Assuming this damn castle doesn't kill him first, that is.
Series: Castle of Chaos [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836508
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	1. Get In Loser, We're Going Shopping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Doobly_Baggo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doobly_Baggo/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which The Author Finally Breaks Their Streak Of Killing Off Their Protagonist In The First Chapter, Not That Taking The Knight Bus Is Much Of An Improvement

Harry James Potter was a rather…  _ unusual  _ child — nobody who lived on Privet Drive could possibly argue against this. What seemed to be the point of contention was  _ what _ , precisely, made him so strange.

Some said it was his looks; his chaotic mop of jet-black hair, bright emerald-green eyes, and pale skin never failed to set him apart from the other children — not to mention his oddly prominent lightning bolt scar.

Others claimed it was his behavior that was so unsettling; he was far quieter than a ten-year-old had any right to be, and always sat away from the other children. Sometimes he could even be seen in the library,  _ reading _ , rather than playing outside like everyone else his age.

The more observant inhabitants of the neighborhood argued it was the fact that he rarely actually got hurt, even when injury seemed unavoidable — and the few times he  _ did  _ get a scrape or cut, it invariably healed within the hour.

Harry Potter himself had a very different idea as to why he was so peculiar:

He was not a child.

It was a simple process of elimination, really. In a “normal” family, children were treated with care and respect. In a “normal” family, children didn’t sleep in cupboards or wear clothes that didn’t fit them. In a “normal” family, children  _ certainly _ did not cook breakfast on a stove.

Either the Dursley family was not “normal” (something Harry seriously doubted due to Uncle Vernon’s worrying fixation on the concept), or Harry was not a child.

Now this brought up the question: 

If not a child, what exactly  _ was _ he?

The first clue to that answer came in the mail, two days before his eleventh birthday. A thick parchment-paper envelope, bearing his name in beautiful purple calligraphy and an unusual-looking crest impressed in red wax.

_ Mr. Harry J. Potter _ _  
_ _ Number 4 Privet Drive _ _  
_ _ The Cupboard Under The Stairs _

Despite its dubious physical properties (who even  _ used _ parchment these days?), the fact that they’d put “Mr.” in front of his name  _ and _ knew where he slept lent the letter an interesting weight.

Indeed, the moment young Harry brought it into the kitchen, Uncle Vernon’s face turned all puce and he kicked Harry  _ and _ Dudley out of the room. The fact that he hadn’t thought twice about separating his dear Dudders from his breakfast meant this mysterious letter was of critical importance.

The next day, another letter came— or rather, the exact same letter came a second time. Harry attempted to open it in the foyer, but Uncle Vernon had followed him when he went to get the mail.

As his uncle jammed the letter into his document shredder, Harry frowned. How had the mysterious sender known he hadn’t managed to read the first one? Wasn’t it more reasonable to wait at least a day, so he had a  _ chance _ to respond? He considered voicing these questions to his Aunt Petunia (who was far more receptive to such inquiries than his uncle, although that didn’t say much), but ultimately decided against it. For all he knew, they were from some stalker sending him inappropriate pictures.

The next day was his birthday, and Harry had a plan. He would wake up early, sneak outside, and wait for the mailman on the porch! If the envelope arrived again, he would open it. If it  _ was _ full of inappropriate pictures, he would bring it to the local police station and the problem would be solved for once and for all!

The only flaw in this brilliant plan was the fact that Uncle Vernon had chosen to sleep by the door himself, a fact that was only discovered when Harry accidentally but firmly planted his foot on the man’s face.

“Bugger.”

Uncle Vernon’s face lit up a brilliant red that Harry could make out even in the half-light of the early morning. He opened his mouth, presumably to shout something that would get Harry put in the naughty corner at school if he were to repeat it, but stopped at the sound of the mail flap squeaking open.

Both their eyes swiveled, fixing on the parchment envelope at the top of the mail pile.

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me read it this time?”

Uncle Vernon’s answer was to tear it in half directly in front of him. To be fair, it was a very clear answer. Just not one Harry particularly liked.

He got up (with great difficulty, given his physique) and turned towards the kitchen. “Well, come on, boy! Breakfast won’t cook itself now, will it?”

A reasonable, measured tone replied. “That can be arranged, Vernon Dursley.”

Uncle Vernon choked.

Who was that? Harry squeezed around his Uncle’s rotund form to peek into the kitchen. A tall, blonde woman was sipping tea at the table and staring at his uncle disapprovingly over her narrow glasses. She wore what looked like modified office attire, with a black robe over it.

His uncle seemed to recover his ability to speak. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?”

The woman sipped her tea for a moment before placing the teacup down on the table firmly. “That was your third chance to tell the boy, Dursley. Did you really think we wouldn’t take matters into our own hands?”

Now, while Harry wasn’t the smartest member of his class, he  _ did  _ understand context clues. Especially when another one of the mysterious letters rested on the table in front of her. “Tell me what?”

Her jade-green eyes turned to him. “Ah… Mister Potter, I presume?”

He nodded nervously.

With a gesture and a soft purple glow, the seat across from her pulled itself out. “Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss.”

“NOT IF I HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY ABOUT IT!”

She sighed and flicked her… riding crop?... at Uncle Vernon, which seemed to stick his jaws together. “Apologies, Dursley, but this choice is not yours.”

She turned back to Harry. “Harry Potter. My name is Glynda Goodwitch, and I’m here to invite you to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as the school’s Deputy Headmistress. I’m sure you have a great deal many questions, but you should read this first.” She pushed the envelope across the table towards him.

He opened the envelope nervously, pulling out multiple sheets of folded parchment. He flattened them down on the table, before picking up the one on top.

* * *

**~ HOGWARTS SCHOOL** **_of_ ** **WITCHCRAFT** **_and_ ** **WIZARDRY ~**

Headmaster: Ozpin   
( _ Order of Merlin: First Class, Grand Sorcerer _ )

_ Dear Mr. Potter, _

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_ In addition, you are cordially invited to speak with the Headmaster regarding further educational opportunities at your earliest convenience. _

_ Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st. _

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Glynda Goodwitch _ _  
_ _ Deputy Headmistress _

* * *

Harry eyed Ms. Goodwitch dubiously. “Witchcraft? Wizardry?”

She nodded. “Have you ever noticed strange things happening around you, perhaps when you were upset?”

Harry looked down at his arm thoughtfully. “I’ve always been really, uh… it takes a lot to hurt me, if that’s what you mean? But otherwise… Oh! I can talk to snakes!”

She smiled. “That ability is referred to as Parseltongue. It’s rather rare, so be proud. Hogwarts will allow you to develop your abilities as a wizard, and control what powers you may already have. While there is a common curriculum, everyone’s magic is slightly different, so our main goal is helping you reach understanding and control.”

Harry nodded sagely. “I think I understood most of that.”

Goodwitch raised an eyebrow. “That puts you ahead of the curve. This speech was written for your guardians, but they are clearly… uninterested.”

He eyed Uncle Vernon nervously. The man had never quite reached that shade of purple before.

Harry glanced back down at the letter. “I, uh… I don’t have an owl?”

“That won’t be a problem. I will take your response in person, and you can get your own owl when we go to Diagon Alley. If you don’t care to keep one, there are also postal shops that let you rent them.” She noticed his look of confusion. “Ah. In magical society, we use owls to send letters… you could think of them as particularly well trained carrier pigeons, I suppose.”

How… unorthodox. He tilted his head in thought. “Can I just tell you I want to go, or do you need it in writing… Oh, do I have to pay? I don’t think I have any money.”

She shook her head. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, Hogwarts doesn’t have tuition. And having it in writing would be preferable, yes.” She slid a sheet of parchment across the table to him, with a classical looking fountain pen laying across it.

He carefully picked up the pen and scrawled his acceptance onto the parchment, before handing it back to… was it Professor Goodwitch now?

She folded the parchment crisply and tucked it into her pocket. “Now that that’s settled, let’s see what your Uncle has to say on the subject.” A wave of the riding crop that Harry was growing increasingly suspicious of had the man’s mouth unglued.

“I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH THIS FREAK MAGIC TRICKS!”

She rolled her eyes. “You have shown yet again that the ability to speak does not make one intelligent, Dursley. If you wish to object to his enrollment, you must submit your request to the Headmaster in person.”

Uncle Vernon had gone beyond purple and was turning colors Harry was fairly certain no healthy human should be… or rather, at least without the direct intervention of magic, since that seemed like the kind of thing it might be able to do. He was clearly torn between his desire to have nothing to do with magic, and his desire to… have nothing to do with magic… 

Goodwitch sighed and pulled out another sheet of parchment. “This is a form declaring you have an extreme aversion to magic. Signing it will allow the Ministry of Magic to declare you unsuitable guardians, at which point we can take Mr. Potter off your hands. That is, if he has no objections. Simply wiping your memory of magic and continuing as normal is also an option.”

Harry turned to her hopefully. “I can  _ leave _ ? Oh, please!”

She nodded and turned back to his uncle. “Just put your signature here, Dursley, and we’re done.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Unsuitable guardians? We’re the only ones willing to do what needs to be done and beat the freakishness out of the boy!”

Goodwitch simply stared at him as her teacup was enveloped in a purple glow, bringing itself up to her lips on its own. She took a slow sip, and the cup set itself back down on the table. “I would advise you to think about your next words very carefully.” 

Uncle Vernon picked up the fountain pen as if afraid it would bite him, but scribbled his signature at the bottom of the parchment.

She folded  _ that _ parchment in half, slipped it into an envelope, and… attached it to the leg of an owl… that she had removed from her pocket? With another purple glow, the kitchen window opened itself and the owl flew out. She turned to Harry and smiled. “Mr. Potter, please gather your things so we may go. You will not be returning.”

He nodded and ducked back into his cupboard. What to take, what to take… He packed his spare clothes into his tattered yellow school backpack, along with his coat hanger (it was fun to watch the reflection of the dim light bulb in the cupboard on it) and his bit of rope (he was really bad at untying knots but he wasn’t going to stop trying until he figured it out). He slipped his arms through the straps and stepped back out.

“WITCHES! HEATHENS! TAKE YOUR PAGAN NONSENSE AND KEEP IT AWAY FROM THIS FAMILY!”

Ah. Aunt Petunia was up.

Professor Goodwitch eyed her disdainfully. “Oh, don’t worry, we were just about to leave.”

Aunt Petunia paled. “But- you can’t- the protections!”

The professor raised a single eyebrow. “Fear not, he’ll be safe enough at Hogwarts.”

“But what about  _ us _ ?”

Professor Goodwitch’s head tilted in mocking incomprehension. “What  _ about _ you? It’s been made perfectly clear that you want Mr. Potter off your hands.”

Aunt Petunia’s weakly voiced objections were drowned out by the sound of a small whale rolling down the stairs. “WHERE’S BREAKFAST? I NEED MY BACON!”

Goodwitch eyed Dudley over the rim of her teacup. “Believe me, young man, that’s the  _ last _ thing you need.”

Uncle Vernon’s face seemed determined to turn every color on the rainbow at this point. “DUDLEY IS A PERFECTLY FINE YOUNG MAN, I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW!”

She idly twirled her riding crop in the man’s general direction. “He would be perfectly fine if he were, say, a young elephant or some sort of whale, but a human? Not at all.” She finally noticed Harry. “Ah, Mr. Potter, that was rather quick. If you’ve run out of space I can shrink some things for you?”

He shook his head cheerfully. “No, this is all my stuff.”

Her polite smile tightened, and her eyes flicked back to the address on his Hogwarts letter. “I see… Please, be a dear and wait for me outside? I have a few final words for your aunt and uncle that are… unfit for young ears.”

* * *

Harry watched Professor Goodwitch exit Number 4 Privet Drive in awe. Some of those words he hadn’t even known existed!

She looked at him and raised her eyebrows. “Oh, dear me, it would seem I forgot to put up Silencing Charms before doing that. It’s rather lucky nobody heard, _ isn’t it _ , Mr. Potter?”

He nodded enthusiastically and fell into step besides her. “So, um… Professor Goodwitch?”

She looked down at him. “Yes?”

“Where, uh, where are we going?”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Our  _ destination _ is Diagon Alley, the central hub of magical society… but we’re taking the Knight Bus.”

He blinked. “The… Knight Bus?”

She nodded. “Yes, the Knight Bus. I find it a very useful tool to demonstrate the ridiculous impracticality of wizardkind as a whole to people new to magic. You are aware of how most things have to travel in some sort of path to get from point A to point B? The Knight Bus… doesn’t. It certainly  _ gets _ there, but  _ how _ that happens remains a mystery.”

He frowned. “I don’t get it.”

She stopped on the sidewalk and held her riding crop out over the street. “You will.”

And with a deafening bang, a three story tall neon purple bus appeared in front of them. Not simply a triple decker bus, but actually three entire stories tall. A young, lanky looking fellow stepped out from the entrance on the back and pulled out a scrap of parchment to read off.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard! Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this mor- Oh, hello, ‘Fessor!”

Professor Goodwitch smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Shunpike. I see you’re keeping busy this summer.”

He grinned and gave a sloppy salute. “You know it, ma’am! Standard fare is eleven Sickles, thirteen if you want hot chocolate, and fifteen for warm water and a toothbrush in the color of your choice.”

She turned to Harry. “British magical society uses three types of coins. Bronze knuts, silver sickles, and gold galleons. Twenty-nine knuts to a Sickle, seventeen Sickles to a Galleon.”

Harry frowned in thought. “So… eleven Sickles times two is twenty-two, making that… carry the two… One Galleon and five Sickles?”

She nodded and dropped the appropriate amount in Stan’s hand. “We’re going to the Leaky Cauldron.” She turned back to Harry. “Come along now, Mr. Potter.”

He stepped onto the bus carefully. The inside, contrary to his expectations, did  _ not _ have normal bus seats. The inside of the bus was open, with a wide variety of chairs scattered around the space. Professor Goodwitch sat down gingerly on an aluminum folding chair, enveloping both it and herself in her telltale purple glow. “I suppose it's rather fortunate you haven’t had breakfast yet.”

He blinked and hopped onto a cushioned swivel chair almost twice as tall as he was, scooting it towards his teacher curiously. “What do you mean by that?”

His question was immediately answered by a deafening bang, as the Knight Bus almost instantly reached its maximum speed. Harry was flung halfway to the back of the bus before the purple glow stopped his chair and pulled it back up to where Professor Goodwitch stayed perfectly stationary. Dozens of empty chairs and one elderly witch weren’t quite so fortunate.

A smile slowly spread across his face. Was this what amusement parks were like? With a subtle glance at the Professor, whose face had taken on a slightly green tinge, he hooked his feet around the chair’s swivel and threw his hands in the air. The bus jerked violently yet again, releasing a slightly more sedate banging noise at the same time.

Harry let out a delighted laugh as his chair was sent spinning violently. That was  _ amazing _ ! He looked out the window and gasped. That was the ocean! He didn’t live near the ocean! “Professor! How fast is this bus  _ moving _ ?”

She stared resolutely forwards. “Entirely too fast for my tastes.”

The bus screeched to a halt. The many unsecured chairs and passengers went clattering forwards around Harry and the Professor. Stan’s voice echoed through the bus. “Mablethorpe! I know there were at least two witches for Mablethorpe, here’s your stop!”

Harry tapped his chin curiously as two young women shakily descended the steps to the second level of the bus. “Where  _ is _ the, uh, Limpet Cauldron?”

“It’s the Leaky Cauldron, and it's in London,” replied Professor Goodwitch.

He frowned. He wasn’t exactly the best at geography, but there weren’t any oceans between Surrey and London, were there? “Is this really along the way?”

She gave him an amused smirk. “No, Mr. Potter, it is not. The Knight Bus isn’t constrained by such silly things as distances. Each stop is determined by a first come first serve basis. Unfortunately, we may be here for a while.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You mean, if we come during a busy time we get to ride for longer?”

She eyed him dubiously. “I can’t imagine why you’d  _ want _ that, but yes.”

He let out another laugh. “Magic is  _ amazing _ !”

Professor Goodwitch’s sigh was interrupted by yet another ear-splitting bang and violent jerk of the bus.

Harry whooped gleefully.

* * *

Professor Goodwitch quickly but carefully stepped out of the Knight Bus, immediately followed by a bouncing Harry Potter. They stood outside a very old, rundown looking pub that was indeed named the Leaky Cauldron. 

Stan grinned and leaned out the side of the bus as it sped away. “Thank you for takin’ the Knight Bus, be sure to ride with us again!”

Harry looked up to the Professor. “That was fun! When can we go again?”

She gave an almost imperceptible shudder. “I’m afraid I won’t have time for another ride, but…” she trailed off and looked towards the Leaky Cauldron. “I’m sure your godfather will be able to oblige.”

Harry looked up at her curiously. “I have a godfather?”

She simply gestured towards the doorway of the pub, or rather the tall, dark-haired man who stepped out of it. He walked over to them and crouched down so his head was level with Harry’s, grinning wildly. 

“Hey, Harry. Long time no see.”

Harry stared back blankly.

Goodwitch sighed and massaged her temples. “Black, that is  _ not  _ how you introduce yourself to a child. Mr. Potter, this man is Sirius Black, Hogwarts History Professor and your godfather.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know this chapter probably left y’all with a lot of questions. The answer to most of them is gonna be “read and find out.”  
> I will say a few things, though: this isn’t a fix-it fic, or fluff, or any of that jazz. If anything, I’d classify this as an S-tier shitpost with a side of raw, meaty plot. I just have to, you know, set up a lot of elements first. I’m in this for the long haul.  
> Trust me, I know what I’m doing. This whole thing is planned out all the way to the end. It’s been marinating in my brain-bowl for over a year. Y’all are in for one heck of a ride.


	2. Sirius Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry gets exposited, kind of. Sirius isn't actually that great at explaining things.

Harry stared at the man in front of him dubiously. He was wearing what were probably very nice robes, not that Harry knew enough about Wizardly fashion to say either way. The man’s long dark hair framed his face, with just enough stubble to give off the energy of being unkempt without actually looking bad. But how he looked wasn’t the issue there, was it?

Harry turned back to Professor Goodwitch. “So this man is supposed to be my godfather? Why was I with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, then?”

Sirius frowned, glancing at the Professor himself. “They didn’t tell him?”

Goodwitch rolled her eyes. “They didn’t tell him _anything_.” She turned back to Harry. “The answer to that question is a very long story-”

His eyes narrowed. “Well-”

She raised an eyebrow at the interruption. “A story for which we may wish to move to a slightly more _private_ location.”

Harry blinked. “Oh.” They _were_ still standing outside of a pub. “Okay, then.”

The Professor— Harry supposed that the ‘Sirius Black’ fellow was also a Professor, which might make things a little confusing if he kept referring to Professor Goodwitch as such— led the way into the Leaky Cauldron.

The doors swung open, and Harry’s eyes widened. It felt like he was stepping back in time, into that dirty wooden bar lit by dim lanterns. A fire roared in the corner, despite the fact that it was in the middle of July. The patrons were an eclectic crowd, ranging from an eight foot tall plaid-clad man sharpening an axe in the corner to the woman in flamboyant blue robes reading two books at once. He suspected the cloaked group at one of the far tables were actually vampires, but Harry didn’t actually know if those were even real. Maybe they just had skin conditions?

Professor Goodwitch lightly tapped his shoulder. “Come along now, Mr. Potter. I’ve reserved a private room, so-”

A nearby patron choked on their drink. “Potter? Harry Potter?”

It felt as though every pair of eyes in the room turned to stare at them. Harry blinked, bewildered. “...yes?”

Mr. Black facepalmed as a horde of wizards shot to their feet. 

“Harry Potter!”

“The Boy Who Lived!”

“Can I have your autograph?”

“Can I have your child?”

Harry backed away from the crowd, stopping when he bumped into Professor Goodwitch’s leg. “Um…”

A wave of purple energy washed across the room, forcing everyone back into their seats. Goodwitch looked around disdainfully. “You’re _adults_. Act like it.” She zeroed in on the person who had made that last comment- a young woman sitting at the bar. “Also, he is 11 years old. Reconsider your life choices.”

The witch grinned shamelessly. “Puttin’ his 18th on my calendar, Ma’am!”

Black wiped a tear from his eye. “I can rest easy now, knowing that my godson already has game.”

Goodwitch raised an eyebrow. “Are we quite done? Because _some of us_ have schedules to keep.”

Black smirked. “As a matter of fact, we are. Carry on.”

She nodded imperiously. “Come along, then. You too, Mr Potter.”

Harry nodded and followed behind the Professor, making sure to stick close to her. As they stepped up the stairs and out of sight of the room, he spoke up. “Er, Professor? What was that? Someone said something about a… boy who lived?”

Goodwitch shot a glance backwards towards Black in the narrow, dimly lit hallway. “Indeed, they did. I would have preferred to explain things before coming here, but since your… relatives, elected to keep you _entirely_ uninformed, I felt it would be appropriate to rely on the assistance of your godfather for this matter.”

Harry frowned in thought, almost immediately bumping into her when she stopped outside a door.

“Hm. Yes, this is it.” She entered the doorway, holding it open for him and Black. 

Harry stepped in, glancing around. It was larger than he’d expected, considering the size of the hallway. A collection of candles and lanterns floated idly in the air near the ceiling, casting a dim golden light on the room. A single table took the focus of the room, with a small stack of papers in the center.

Goodwitch closed the door behind them, and the three of them sat at the table.

Harry looked at them expectantly. “So… why was I with the Dursleys if I have a godfather?”

Goodwitch picked up one of the slips of paper in the center and placed it in front of him. He looked down at it and frowned. It was some kind of order slip?

“None of us have had breakfast, and this is going to be a very long conversation. Order something, and then we’ll begin.”

He blinked and scribbled something down on the slip, passing it back to her. She stacked them together and tapped them with her wand, and they folded themselves up and floated off, slipping under the door and out of sight.

Goodwitch cleared her throat. “Now that that is out of the way…” she glanced meaningfully at Black.

He tapped his chin for a moment, and turned to Harry. “What do you know about your parents?”

He shrugged. “They were alcoholic layabouts that died in a car crash when I was one?”

“Preposterous,” declared Goodwitch. “James and Lily Potter were upstanding members of magical society, and they did not die in a _car crash_.”

Harry frowned. “That’s what Uncle Vernon told me. If they didn’t die in a car crash, how did they die?” He froze. “They _are_ dead, right? It’s not that they didn’t want me?”

Black shook his head. “Never for a moment think they didn’t love you, Harry. They were murdered by a bloody maniac, is what happened.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “Did they catch who did it?”

Goodwitch’s lips quirked. “In a manner of speaking.”

Black hummed thoughtfully. “How can I put this… there were a bunch of racist crazies who loved throwing around instant death curses, led by the head crazy who was so crazy he came up with a made-up name for himself, and then he killed your parents and tried to kill you except he killed himself _on_ you and died, so now most of Wizarding Britain worships you as a Dark Lord-destroying savior and war hero. Did I miss anything?”

Goodwitch tilted her head. “I believe you missed the part where you were framed for betraying the Potters.”

He snapped his fingers. “Right! I was framed for betraying your parents, and they put me in torture jail, but then Dumbledore became Minister of Magic- great guy, by the way, if I’d been allowed to vote from jail I would have voted for him- and got me a trial and they figured out it wasn’t me, but since it was, you know, torture jail, they’re not really sure I’m still entirely there in the head, so I’m not allowed to be a guardian for another 5 years.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “I, um. I have a lot of questions, actually.”

Black nodded. “Alright then, shoot.”

“How does one kill themselves on a baby they’re trying to murder?”

Black waved his arm. “Well, that’s the million Galleon question, isn’t it? Nobody knows exactly what happened that night. Maybe you have some sort of mystical Killing Curse-reflecting properties. Maybe you were possessed by Merlin’s ghost and fought him. Maybe Voldemort accidentally learned the Animagus transformation, except his Animagus form was his own dead body, and he hasn’t figured out how to turn back yet. It is, quite literally, anyone’s guess.

“What we _do_ know is that he walked into your house _probably_ intending to kill everyone in it, and when we got there you were alive, and your parents weren’t, and there was an extra corpse-sized pile of ash, so… well, in retrospect a lot of assumptions were made, but he hasn’t shown himself to be still alive and he’s not exactly the most subtle person, so odds are he’s at least a little bit dead.”

Harry considered that slowly. That… didn’t sound all that reassuring, actually. 

Suddenly, a pleasant chiming sound rang out through the room, followed by the appearance of food on the table in front of them with a quiet pop. He blinked at the breakfast spread in front of him for a moment before glancing over at the Professors; Black was holding what seemed to be a cheeseburger with a fried egg stuck in it, and Goodwitch was gracefully biting into her avocado toast. They seemed rather… trusting, of food that had appeared out of nowhere. Did wizards even cook? Did they just snap their fingers and create food?

Harry scooped up a heaping of eggs and inspected it closely. It was completely indistinguishable from normal eggs.

He shoved the fork into his mouth and chewed slowly. It definitely _tasted_ like normal eggs. He stared down at his fork solemnly.

“Magic is truly a powerful thing.”

Black blinked in confusion, mid-bite. He looked at Goodwitch, who shrugged, and then shrugged himself before continuing to eat his burger.

Harry considered his next question as he munched on a slice of bacon. “Uh, Mr. Black? Or Professor Black?”

Black chewed his bite and swallowed it down. “We’re not in class, so call me Sirius.”

Harry dipped his head. “Right. Um. Does that kind of thing happen often for wizards?”

Sirius tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Harry waved his fork vaguely. “The, uh. The things you said earlier. About having a mystical curse reflecting something, or being possessed by Merlin, or… someone transforming into their own dead body and getting stuck?”

Sirius considered it for a moment. “I mean, they don’t _typically_ happen all that often, I don’t think. But its magic, and nobody actually _knows_ how it works, so all kinds of weird stuff is going to happen eventually.”

Harry stared at Sirius for a moment. “Nobody knows how magic works?” He could have sworn he was going to a school about it.

Sirius frowned and tapped his chin. “I guess that was the wrong word to use. We _kind of_ know how it works, but we don’t know _everything_ , and we _definitely_ don’t know _why_ it works, just that it _does_ , you know?”

Harry blinked. “No?”

Goodwitch patted his shoulder consolingly. “Worry not, Mr. Potter. The specifics of magical theory won’t be particularly relevant to you until at least fourth year. It should be enough to know that we have rules for a reason, and that reason is usually closer to making sure you don’t accidentally turn your friends and loved ones into disgusting bat-person monstrosities than it is that we don’t want you to do interesting things.”

Harry frowned. “Does _that_ happen very often?”

“Be careful in your Potions classes,” was the only reply he got from her.

* * *

The conversation continued as their plates were cleared.

“So,” began Goodwitch. “Do you still have your Hogwarts letter?”

Harry patted himself down, before blushing. “I forgot it at the Dursleys’.”

She nodded. “Indeed, you did.” The envelope slid out of her jacket pocket wreathed in a purple glow, setting itself on the table in front of him. “I noticed it myself, but you will need to keep track of these things in the future.”

He dipped his head. “Right.”

“You’ve already read the invitation letter, but there should be some more pages in there.”

He pulled out and unfolded the letter once more, this time moving the top page aside. The second page was… a supplies list? But full of weird stuff. Cauldrons, wands, robes, a hat… wait, yeah, he was going to wizard school. It checked out.

He looked back up to Goodwitch. “Where am I supposed to get all this stuff? I don’t know if I can find any of this in London.”

She raised an eyebrow. “It will be easier to show you. Unfortunately, I am on a tight schedule today and will have to take my leave soon, so I will leave that part to Black. I suppose the most pressing concern is your living situation until school starts… I would recommend you take a room here in the Leaky Cauldron for the time being. We would let you stay at Hogwarts, but we’re not actually allowed to do that until after your first year begins. Black will also be staying here, as a chaperone.”

She turned to Sirius. “I hope you realize the amount of trust Ozpin is putting in you. Please, be responsible for once in your life.”

Sirius smirked. “Oh, Glynda, I’m always Sirius about these things.”

She frowned. “That one was a stretch, I give it a three out of ten.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Pshhh, that one was great! Right, Harry?”

Harry very carefully avoided responding. “So, Professor, about that ‘invitation to discuss further educational opportunities’ on the first page... Does Sirius know how to get me there, or do I get to take the Knight Bus again?”

She hummed thoughtfully. “He should be able to show you the Floo system as well. I recommend getting that meeting out of the way sometime within the next week. Make sure you owl ahead to confirm the time, Ozpin is a very busy man. I think. I don’t know if he actually does any work.”

Harry frowned. The Deputy Headmistress wasn’t sure her boss did any work? That sounded… not that great.

Goodwitch cleared her throat and stood. “Well, unless you have any more questions for me, I’ll be off.”

He thought for a moment, but came up blank. “I can’t think of anything at the moment.”

She nodded slowly. “Excellent.” She turned to Sirius. “Make sure you go school shopping as soon as possible. And make sure to go to his vault as well, he needs to learn how to handle money. And don’t forget to actually give him his vault key. And make sure you both get up early, so he’ll be ready once school starts. And-”

Sirius raised his hands. “I know, I know, c’mon, trust me a little! I’ll owl someone if there’s any problems. I got this.”

She eyed him dubiously, but relented. “Very well then. I’ll see you when school starts, Mr Potter, if not earlier. I will be giving tours to muggleborn families for the next month or so, don’t be afraid to say hello if you see me. Good luck.”

And with that, she stepped out of the room. Sirius munched on a leftover fry for a moment, before turning to Harry. “Hey, Harry.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

A grin split Sirius’ face. “Wanna go ride my flying motorcycle?”

Harry’s eyes shone. “ _Do I?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's chapter 2! We get the reason why Sirius hadn't just adopted Harry right off the bat, a bit of exposition, and Sirius being wildly irresponsible the moment Goodwitch looks away. Will Harry survive the next few months? Who knows?
> 
> This chapter was a little bit shorter than usual, but sometimes it really do be like that. Next one should probably be longer, maybe?
> 
> I'm updating my main 3 fics (this, The Next Great Adventure, and Titanium Soul) in rotation, with one chapter a month being my deadline. So, with that in mind, the next update for this should be sometimes towards the end of, what, January? Might be sooner but I make no promises.


	3. Welcome to Wizard Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Harry Doesn't Know Enough About Economics For Diagon Alley To Make Him Cry

“Hey, Harry.”

Harry looked up at his godfather over his peanut butter and pumpkin ice cream sundae. “Yeah?”

“It occurs to me,” continued Sirius, “that we might want to get your shopping done before Goodwitch comes back and decides to fire me.”

Harry looked back down at his spoon. “Oh. Yeah. That would be bad, wouldn’t it?”

Sirius nodded. “Yep. Still got your supply list?”

Harry pulled the parchment envelope from his pocket and laid it down on the table in front of him.

Sirius nodded approvingly. “Great. Where do you think we’re going first?”

Harry looked down at the list and pursed his lips. Where, indeed? “The, uh, wand store?”

Sirius laughed. “Trick question, kiddo! We’ve got to drop by Gringotts to pick up some money before we can go shopping."

Harry frowned. “Gringotts? That big marble building?”

Sirius stood up and started patting himself down. “Yeah, it’s the bank. It’s run by goblins, and has been for ages.”

Harry perked up. “Goblins?”

Sirius smirked. “Yeah, goblins. They’ve got a whole different brand of magic from us wizards, so- _there_ it is!” He fished a golden key from his pocket and held it up to the light to inspect. “Yep, this is the one. Here, take this.” He tossed it over to Harry.

Harry caught the key and inspected it. It was an ornate, delicate-looking thing with the number 687 inscribed on one side. He turned it over to find the name ‘Potter’ gleaming back up at him. He turned back to Sirius. “This has my name on it?”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah. The Potter family vault is yours now, and I bet ol’ Prongs left you a _pretty_ penny.” He leaned down close to Harry and grinned conspiratorially. “Wanna go check it out?”

* * *

Harry took a moment to stare at the sea of gold, silver, and bronze piled up in the vault before turning back to his godfather. “Just to clarify… this is _all_ mine?”

“Yep! Here, gimme a second…” Sirius pulled a pouch from his pocket and handed it to Harry. “Fill this up, it should last you until school starts. I’ll cover your school supplies and room cost, this is just pocket money.”

Harry gazed at the pouch in awe. He’d never had pocket money before! Dudley had, but that was in bills. Harry was going to have actual real gold coins as _pocket money_! He grinned and piled Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts into the pouch indiscriminately.

Sirius tapped his chin thoughtfully. "You can also have some exchanged for Muggle money if the need arises. Diagon Alley _is_ in the middle of London, so we can go out on that side too if you want. I heard they have this thing called 'stuffed crust pizza' out there, and I'm kinda curious."

Harry's eyes shone; stuffed crust pizza was a luxury he had heard of but never known. Was this the kind of life he could live, now? Magic was amazing!

The coin pouch was filled, the vault closed, and the goblin cart mounted once more. "Where are we going now?," Harry asked minutes later, as they stepped out of the cart and back into the bank's main lobby.

"Well," began Sirius, "I've already got my own money, so I guess we just run down your list and look for anything on it? We may as well go in the list order to make things simpler."

Harry looked down at the envelope in his hand. "Yeah, that makes sense."

The doors swung open and the two of them stepped back out into the daylight. "Well then, Harry," Sirius turned to his godson. "What's up first?"

Harry unfolded the list and peered at it. “Well, the first thing on the list is the uniform…”

* * *

**First-year students will require:**

  * **Three sets of plain work robes (black)**


  * **One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear**


  * **One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)**


  * **One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)**



**Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags.**

* * *

_“Sirius? What am I supposed to wear under the robes?”_

_“When I was in school we had to close them all the way up, so we just had underwear on under ‘em. But Ozpin is a lot more relaxed about the dress code than Dumbledore was, so you’re allowed to wear pretty much anything as long as the robe is there and the same amount of skin is covered.”_

_“What does everyone else do?”_

_“I think most people just wear a dress shirt to go with the tie, since wearing it is easier than customizing your robe to show what House you’re in.”_

_“What House I’m in?”_

_“Uuuuuuh, you’ll find out when you get there.”_

* * *

**All students should have a copy of each of the following:**

  * **_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1),_ by Miranda Goshawk**


  * **_A Probably Thorough History (Vol 1)_ , by Remus Lupin**


  * **_Magical Theory_ , by Adalbert Waffling**


  * **_A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration_ , by Emeric Switch**


  * **_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ , by Phyllida Spore**


  * **_Magical Drafts and Potions_ , by Arsenius Jigger**


  * **_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , by Newt Scamander**


  * **_Wizarding Combat for Small Children_ , by Doobly Arnon**



* * *

_“Um. Sirius? There’s a lot of books in there that aren’t on the list.”_

_“HAH! You think I’m gonna let my godson go to Hogwarts without a copy of ‘101 Jinxes That Shouldn’t Get You Expelled’ or ‘How To Cheat At Magic Tricks’?”_

_“Why would I need to cheat at magic tricks?”_

_“Uh, because it’d be funny?”_

* * *

**OTHER EQUIPMENT:**

  * **1 telescope**


  * **1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)**


  * **1 set glass or crystal phials**


  * **1 set brass scales**



* * *

_“Don’t I also need, like. Ingredients? To make Potions, that is.”_

_“Eh, don’t worry about it. First years don’t use anything too expensive so you work out of the school’s ingredient cabinet until you’ve been taught how to properly store and handle everything.”_

_“Cool. Can I get a gold cauldron?”_

_“You don’t want a gold cauldron, trust me on this one. If you don’t know what you’re doing they have a tendency to, y’know, make your potions explode while you’re brewing them.”_

_“Oh. Yeah, never mind then.”_

_“That’s what I thought.”_

* * *

  * **1 wand**



* * *

A small bell rang as Sirius and Harry stepped into the dimly lit wand shop. Motes of dust swirled through the air, dancing between the rows and rows of shelves packed with long, thin boxes.

An elderly voice rang out from the back of the shop. “Sirius Black. Elm with dragon heartstring, twelve and three quarter inches long. I hope it continues to serve you well?”

Sirius shivered. “Jeez, Ollivander, do you always have to do that? And yeah, my wand’s fine. I’m here to get Harry one.”

“Ah,” a tall, wiry-looking man leaned down from the shadows between shelves to stare directly into his eyes. “Harry Potter. I’d been wondering when you would come by.”

Harry blinked. “You have?”

Ollivander straightened back up, disappearing behind the shelves once more. “Indeed. There’s not a witch or wizard in England that doesn’t know this is the year Harry Potter is going to Hogwarts.”

“No pressure,” mumbled Sirius.

“Naturally,” agreed the wandcrafter. “Now, Mr. Potter, which is your wand arm?”

Harry blinked. “I’m right handed, if that’s what you mean?”

“Good, good. Height?,” inquired Ollivander from directly behind him. Harry jumped.

“I, er, haven’t measured recently? Sorry.”

Ollivander shook his head. “Don’t mind it, that’s valuable information in its own right. Do you know your weight? I’d ask your birth date, but that’s common trivia at this point.”

Harry shook his head. “Haven’t checked my weight either.”

The wandmaker hummed thoughtfully and pulled out a tape measure. “Hold still- no, don’t straighten up, just stay still... “

Harry carefully stood still as Ollivander measured the length of his forearms, the distance between his elbows, the width of his stance, the curvature of his spine…

“Um, Mr. Ollivander? Is there a reason you need to know all this?”

The wandmaker stroked his chin. “Oh, of course. I cannot simply hand you a wand and send you on your way; the wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around.”

Harry tilted his head curiously. Ollivander quickly marked down the angle of his neck and continued. 

“They are… quite similar to people, really. No two wands are alike, and each one has its own personality, its own quirks, its own… types, I suppose. I daresay matching the wizard to the wand is an art form to rival the wand-crafting itself!”

Ollivander suddenly stood ramrod straight, rolling up the tape measure and tossing it haphazardly over his shoulder as he stalked over towards the rows of shelves. “The more I know about the wizard, the more we can narrow down what sort of wand might find them worthy of a bond…” he took a moment to survey the hundreds of thousands of boxes stacked up on his shelves. “And believe me, we need all the narrowing down we can manage. What’s your favorite bird?”

“Um,” Harry thought for a moment. “Penguin?”

The wandmaker paused. “Which breed?”

Harry shrugged. “The ones at the zoo?”

Ollivander hummed thoughtfully to himself. “Let’s see… divergent thought process, but ultimately straightforward and unconcerned with minutiae… let’s try maple and unicorn hair, ten and a half inches.”

Harry blinked as a wand handle was thrust in front of him. He reached out to grab it, but the moment his fingers brushed the wood it shuddered and made a sound like a kazoo being shot out of a potato gun. He jerked back, alarmed.

Ollivander frowned and looked down at the wand. “That shouldn’t have happened. Unless... “

He reached forwards and pressed the wand handle against Harry’s bare arm. The sound rang out once more.

Ollivander tsked disappointedly. “You should have told me you’d dabbled in Soul Magic, Mr. Potter.”

Harry blinked. “Soul what, now?”

“Soul Magic,” the wandmaker repeated as he put the wand back in its box. “It's not exactly my expertise but your vital energies seem to be running rampant throughout your body, and _that_ interferes with the bonding process.”

He shuffled down the row and climbed a ladder that Harry was pretty certain hadn’t been there a few moments ago. “I’d ask you to clamp down on it, but you don’t seem to have conscious control, which means you’re going to need a wand that’ll bond to you _through_ it. And that means we have two options; a wand that is completely and perfectly tuned to every aspect of your being, or a wand with _drama_.”

Harry stared at Ollivander, completely lost. “A wand with drama?”

The wandmaker quirked his mouth. “Perhaps ‘ulterior motives’ would have been a better way to phrase it; a wand that will bond despite not actually being the right match, usually due to personal reasons. Perhaps all the other wands in its batch are already bonded and it will settle for a sub-par match just so it doesn’t feel left behind. Perhaps the wand is simply too nice to tell you you’re a bad match. Perhaps the wand took up a debt it can’t pay back and now wants to skip wand-town before the wand-mafia comes to collect; the metaphor begins to break down on me, but you understand the gist.”

Harry tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I think I get it? But where am I supposed to find a wand like that?”

Ollivander slid out from between the shelves carrying a large box. “I’ve prepared quite the selection for situations such as this. These should be sufficiently lonely.” He placed the box on the floor in front of Harry and opened it up; Harry noticed a label reading simply ‘Unstable’ before the lid flipped down to cover it.

Ollivander fished out a peculiar looking wand and offered it to Harry. 

He took it, and stared as it immediately cracked in half and shot a long, dangerous looking quill across the store. “Um. Whoops?”

Ollivander waved it off. “Erumpent horn and Manticore quill was always going to be volatile, don’t mind it. How about… this one? Redwood, 2,871 dragon heartstrings, 298 feet 8 inches, shrunken.”

A thick, red wand was dropped into Harry’s hand, and he almost dropped it from the weight. It buzzed angrily, and was immediately taken back.

“I spent weeks building that one, oh well. How do you feel about werewolves?”

Harry blinked. “What?”

A delicate-looking silver wand was placed in his hand. “Goblin-forged silver, dragon spinal cord, twelve inches on the dot. A collaboration between my great-great-grandfather and the Goblin craftsman Loingurd to see if the unique properties of goblin forged metal allowed for metallic wand casings.”

Sirius perked up. “Did it?”

Ollivander sighed sadly. “Technically, yes, but it hasn’t bonded to a wizard in all the years it's been in this shop. I suspect it prefers goblins, but the ministry ruled against goblins owning wands centuries ago.”

Harry frowned down at the wand laying dormant in his hand. “That’s pretty sad, actually. Was there a reason they did that?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Fear, hate, bigotry? People can be pretty awful- but that’s a lesson for history class, not here.”

Ollivander paused, a wand that seemed to be carved from bone in one hand and a spiralled blue rod with iridescent finish in the other. “Oh. That one just might do it. Give me a moment, please.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “Did you think of something that could help?”

“This one will be a bit of a gamble,” Ollivander admitted as he scaled his shelves once more. “It will either love you or hate you, and I’ve no idea which. It’s holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, but the feather itself holds some rather _potent_ drama, for you in particular.”

He deftly plucked a single boxed wand from the upper levels and slid back down gracefully. “You see, this wand was made with a tail feather from Fawkes, Albus Dumbledore’s phoenix.”

Sirius wolf-whistled.

“Indeed,” agreed Ollivander. “But that’s not the drama I speak of. I only ever received two feathers from that wonderful bird, and the other…” the wandmaker’s finger tapped against Harry’s forehead lightly. “The wand I crafted from the other is the one that gave you that scar. You understand why I hesitate here?”

“Oh,” said Harry quietly.

Ollivander opened the box carefully and placed it in front of him. “I will understand if you choose not to take this wand, even if it bonds to you.”

Harry took a moment to stare at the lightly colored wooden wand in the box in front of him. It looked… innocent. Friendly, even, for a wand related to the one that had killed his parents. He glanced up at Sirius, who gazed back neutrally and raised his eyebrows.

He took a deep breath, and gently lifted the wand from its packaging.

It shuddered limply in his hand.

Ollivander sighed and reached out to take back the wand, but paused when the shudders shifted to a higher toned vibration. The wand jumped about in Harry’s hand, searching for some unseen sweet spot- and with a fountain of golden sparkles and a deep warmth rushing up his arm, it found it.

Ollivander gently lifted Harry’s arm to point upwards and stared intensely at the wand in his hand, heedless of the orange motes of light spiralling across his storefront. “Fascinating,” the wandmaker muttered to himself. “The wand _changed wavelengths_ to match you? Using your Soul Magic interference as the sample to calibrate itself against? This is _unprecedented_.”

Harry shrugged. “I’m still not entirely sure what that Soul Magic thing you’re talking about is, but I’m guessing this wand is the one? It feels like it should be the one.”

Ollivander nodded. “I do believe that’s the best reaction we could have hoped for today. Do let me know if you notice anything interesting happening between the two; your Soul Magic and the wand, that is to say.”

Harry saluted the wandmaker. “I’ll take notes!”

Ollivander inclined his head. “Then I will be in your debt.” He turned to Sirius. “That will be seven Galleons.”

Sirius grinned and dropped the coins on the man’s counter. “That was way funner than it was when I came for my wand! Remind me to bring popcorn next time.”

Ollivander stared neutrally at Harry’s godfather. “I’ll be sure to call you when I feel the need to get butter and grease all over my merchandise, Black.”

Sirius winced. “Point taken.”

* * *

Harry and Sirius stepped out of the wand shop.

“So,” said Sirius. “Anything else on that list of yours?”

Harry squinted down at it and frowned. “Uh, just that I can have a cat or owl or toad, and that I’m not allowed to bring my own broomstick?”

Sirius grinned. “Well, nothing says _I’m_ not allowed to have _two_ brooms. I’ll hang onto it for you, but if you want to go flying at school just hunt me down.”

Harry blinked. “So you really do use broomsticks to fly?”

Sirius gaped at Harry for a moment, before smacking his forehead. “You were Muggle-raised, right! You’ve never _been_ flying, have you? We’ll have to fix that immediately.”

Harry followed Sirius as the older man marched determinedly towards a shop labelled ‘Quality Quidditch Supplies.’

Harry’s godfather threw the doors open enthusiastically and walked right up to the cashier. “Broomstick seller! I require two of your finest broomsticks!”

The cashier blinked lazily at him. “You want to buy two Nimbus 2000s? Cuz those are on backorder, you’ll have to wait a week or two to get ‘em.”

Sirius frowned. “Fine. Give me the two best brooms you have in stock.”

The cashier frowned. “We have the Cleansweep 9 and the Comet 260, which do you prefer?”

Sirius turned to Harry. “Well?”

Harry stared at Sirius, baffled. “I have no idea what either of those are.”

Sirius slapped his forehead. “Right. My bad.” He turned back to the cashier. “We’ll take one of each, so he can try out both.”

Harry raised a hand. “Could I just get, like, a _normal_ broom?”

Both Sirius and the cashier looked pityingly at Harry.

Harry shrunk back down. “Or not. This is fine.”

The cashier nodded to Sirius. “Let me just total that up real quick then I’ll head to the back to get them.”

Sirius grinned. “Thanks.” He turned back to Harry. “Alright, in the meantime, you’re gonna want to read…” he reached over to a nearby magazine rack, all featuring various sports teams riding broomsticks, and began flipping through them. “This one, and this one, and- oh, that one’s new, better take it too…”

Harry stared at the ever-growing pile of Quidditch magazines with apprehension.

What even _was_ a Quidditch, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna have the meeting with Ozpin in this chapter but then Ollivander started talking and didn't stop.

**Author's Note:**

> I made a discord!  
> Wanna talk about the fic? The fandom? Your deep-seated emotional trauma? Feel free to join!  
> Here's the link: https://discord.gg/CH2a5Nf
> 
> Did something make you laugh? cry? throw your laptop across your room? Did I do anything particularly well, or is there anything you think I need to improve on? Let me know in the reviews! A key aspect of improving skills is feedback, and that's what reviews are there for!  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
